


Constant Variable

by ElectricBoomerang



Category: Deltarune (Video Game), Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: But until chapter two comes out It's Free Real Estate right boys, Deltarune is Post-Genocide Undertale, Gen, Love is Stored in the Chara, Morally Gray Chara/The Player is the Villain, Narrator Chara (Undertale), Possibly AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 04:43:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16509596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectricBoomerang/pseuds/ElectricBoomerang
Summary: A variable that remains unchanged throughout an experiment in order to better understand the relationship between other variables.*Sometimes you’re so focused on trying to save everyone else you forget to think about yourself.





	Constant Variable

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of emotions about the Narrator Chara theory, specifically about how they'd feel about Deltarune. Next thing I know this exists.

You angle your face towards the sun, pretending you can feel its warm shine. You look at Frisk out of the corner of your eye. At the way their mouth curves into a grin, and the way their hand fits so perfectly into Mom’s, like it was always meant to be there.

You feel… happy, you realize. Content. You and Frisk _won_ . And in a way, you and Azzy still succeeded. You still broke the barrier. Everyone’s free. You’re _happy_. You love all these people. You love Frisk.

They catch your eye, and you return their smile wholeheartedly.

*

You don’t understand why Frisk reset. Everything was fine. They got a happy ending. Why go back?

“I know,” Frisk whispers in Snowdin Inn that night. “I didn’t want to.”

“What?” you spit. “Then why _did_ you?”

“I didn’t want to!” Frisk repeats. “I don’t- I don’t control the resets. Or even… some of the big choices.”

Your eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

“There’s… something else. Not me, or you. I don’t think it’s a voice, but it’s this feeling. Telling me that I have to reset, or I have to spare that person _right now or else_. And I can’t do anything but obey.” Frisk pauses, and buries their face in their hands. “I don’t like it. ‘S scary.”

You’re left at a loss for words. As much as it sounds like an excuse, Frisk has never been a liar. And there always have been moments where their movements are a tad too mechanical to be natural. “I believe you,” you say shakily. Acting on impulse, you pull Frisk into a hug.

They bury their face in your shoulder, letting out a shuddering breath. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” you say, like you would when comforting Azzy after a nightmare. After a long moment, Frisk pulls away, and you work up the courage to ask. “How much control do you have?”

“The little things,” Frisk says instantly. “Stuff like what I’m saying, or the tiny details of the big things.”

You hum, nodding. “And…” you hesitate, afraid of the answer. “What would you do, if you were in control?”

“I’d spare,” Frisk says instantly, _insistently_. “Everyone. I swear.”

“I believe you,” you say again, and your face twitches into a smile. As Frisk comes to match it, you pretend there isn’t absolute rage and bitter hatred boiling in your gut. It’s not _fair_ that this happened to Frisk. No one should be _allowed_ to do this to them, to take their agency and force them to play a role they never even auditioned for. In that moment, you make a silent promise to your friend. _I’m going to find a way to save you, whatever it takes_.

*

Time passes. That mysterious Other that you and Frisk have taken to calling The Player keeps forcing Frisk to reset. The ones where The Player forces Frisk to kill someone are the worst. They leave you and Frisk both shaking, and Sans staring at the two of you with an unreadable expression. (Is that anger in his eyes, or is it pity?)

Well. _That’s a lie_ , you think as you watch Frisk take the knife in their dust-coated hands. _This one_ is the worst. Every movement they make is mechanical and calculated. No expression crosses their face as dust falls at their feet. No control, no _mercy_.

You don’t think you’re supposed to love a murderer. But you still love Frisk. _People make mistakes_ , Mom once told you. You don’t think mass-murder really counts as a mistake, but… the buttercups weren’t, either. If Frisk can still love you despite that, you can do the same for them. At least the murder isn’t something that they chose.

You _hate_ the power that blooms in your chest with every monster dusted across the floor. All you can see is red, and rage rolls in your gut, hatred for that Player choking you like a hand around your throat. Through the agony of watching your friends die and Frisk tear themself apart with guilt, you begin to plan.

Power. You’re growing more powerful, right? If you get just enough, maybe you can… yeah. This’ll work. It has to.

You’ll have to dirty your hands, though. Make sure The Player sees this run through to the bitter end if you want this to work. You grind Papyrus’s skull to dust under your heel, and your hatred for yourself almost matches how much you hate The Player. But this isn’t about you; it never was. You’re beyond saving, but Frisk isn’t. This is for them. You don’t matter in this equation.

*

“Please don’t kill me,” Flowey begs. This isn’t your brother, you remind yourself. Yet you still hesitate. You can’t do it. You can’t kill him, and your plan almost crumbles to dust in your hands. But after a long moment, Frisk’s arm moves with stilted grace.

You watch as the flower that _could’ve-would’ve-been-used-to-be_ your brother crumbles to dust beneath The Player’s hand, and your resolve hardens.

Not even Sans could stop them, but you’re not Sans. You’re the narrator, and you pray that will give you a fighting chance. “Greetings.” Your voice has an odd echo; nearly a reverb. “I am Chara.”

You see Frisk’s eyebrows knit together for a moment in confusion. _What are you doing?_ they probably want to ask. _What are you playing at?_

 _You’ll see,_ you want to tell them as their face smooths back over into The Player’s trademark indifference. “Thank you. Your power awakened me from death.” It’s not a lie. The Player is more determined than you and Frisk combined. Well. _Was_. If this world has taught you anything, it’s not that _it’s kill or be killed_ , or that your choices matter. You already knew that. No, you’ve learned that there is one thing stronger than LOVE, and that’s _love_. Undyne, a true hero- _your_ hero- loved her people, her land, her world. You love your friends. You love your family. Your mother, father, brother, and Frisk. You weave for The Player a tale of a blank slate, shaped by their actions. “I realized the purpose of my reincarnation. Power.”

Also not a lie. That’s what this run has been all about. Gathering enough power to destroy The Player, and save Frisk once and for all. Once this is done, you two can do one last run, spare everyone and make it up to Sans. Maybe you can even get Frisk to take Flowey to the Surface, and everyone can finally be together and have their happily ever after.

“Now we have reached the absolute,” you say, a devilish grin on your face. Playing the bad guy is nice, in this moment. Show The Player what they’ve been messing with. Who they’ve been messing with. Asriel wasn’t strong, so you had to be. The same goes for Frisk. “There is nothing left for us here. Let us erase this pointless world, and move onto the next.”

" _No!_ ” Frisk begs. You can tell it’s them by the desperation in their voice, and the fear in their eyes. You don’t respond; you’re waiting for The Player.

“No,” The Player responds indifferently after a long, long moment of waiting.

“No?” you ask. You hum, as if contemplating. “How curious. You must have misunderstood.” Pause; let your words sink in, and the dawning horror show on _Frisk-not-Frisk_ ’s face.

You lunge forwards, your hands digging painfully into their arms. The two of you are almost nose-to-nose, and you can see the absolute fear shining in Frisk’s _red-but-they’re-meant-to-be-brown_ eyes. You feel your face twist into something monstrous, a dark sludge that smells like golden flowers dripping down your cheeks and bubbling out of your lips like blood. “ _Since when were you the one in control?_ ”

The knife sinks into not-Frisk’s gut, and the floor falls from beneath you.

You’re falling. Falling, falling, like the way you fell into The Underground all those years ago. Wind rushes in your ears, and snatches at your clothes. You smell ozone and earth and smoke. You wonder if this is Hell. You deserve it, for killing Papyrus and Sans and Dad and Flowey and now Frisk. You hate that you had to kill your friend, too, but that’s the point of resetting. They’ve got enough determination on their own, you’re positive. They’ll go through one last time, and get that happy ending they deserve once and for all. Yeah, you won’t be in it, but it’s just like with the first time you died. This is a sacrifice you’re willing to make. For them and everyone else.

You’re falling through the void. You’re not sure when you’ll stop falling. If you ever will in the first place. You think you taste buttercups on the back of your tongue, and all you can do is _laugh_. Laugh and laugh until you can feel the breath you don’t need rattling hollowly in the lungs you don’t have.

*

Finally, you realize you’ve stopped falling. You try to get your bearings as your stomach rolls now that you’re on terra firma. You’re perched on a windowsill, in… a bedroom? Yeah, a bedroom. On one side is a neatly made bed and a dresser, trophies lining the shelves. On the nightstand is a lamp, an alarm clock, and what is probably a family portrait- you can’t quite tell from your vantage point. On the other side, someone is lying in a bed with gray sheets. The shelves are bare, and as is the nightstand, except for a lone lamp. At the foot of the bed is a bright red wagon, with a beat-up birdcage in it for some reason.

At the center of the room is a rug, marked with the Delta Rune. Huh. Then, you realize that someone’s standing on the rug. You look up, and realize you’re looking at _Mom_.

Is… is this it? Is that Frisk, lying in bed right now? Is this their and Mom’s home on the surface?

You… won.

You _won_.

You feel a little like crying.

But then Mom opens her mouth and says “Kris!”

_Who’s Kris._

“Kris, if you do not wake up, we will be late for school!” She marches forwards, and reaches through you to open the curtains. You don’t think you’ll ever be used to people doing stuff like that, no matter how many times you’re reminded that no one except Frisk can touch or feel you. “I will wait outside for you, alright?”

Mom leaves, and you try to ignore the way your head is screaming _where’s Frisk where are they where am I why’s Mom here who are you what’s going on_ and just watch as Kris practically rolls out of bed.

There’s a pause, with you sitting on the windowsill, and Kris staring at you. You’re the first to break the impromptu staring contest, angling your head to the window and saying “It’s a beautiful day outside.”

Kris’s expression is unreadable, their eyes shadowed. “Who are you?”

You remember almost this exact conversation with Frisk. There was all kinds of naive innocence in Frisk’s eyes where there’s nothing but accusatory indifference in Kris’s. “ _Your new partner in crime,_ ” you had told Frisk, smiling grimly.

But this isn’t Frisk, and this isn’t your home turf. “I am Chara,” you say in a pale echo of half an hour ago. “The demon that comes when you call its name.”

Kris’s expression doesn’t change, but their lips press into a thin line.

*

Kris walks like a man on death row. Reluctant, but moving forwards nonetheless, as if someone’s pressing a gun between their shoulder blades and telling them to _march, dammit._

They pause in front of the mirror, and drag a cursory hand through their hair. They seem satisfied, judging by the fact that they make no move to get a brush. Instead, they just stand there for a few heartbeats longer than necessary, staring at themself.

You always liked the mirrors, back in the Underground. _It’s you!_ you had told Frisk the first time.

 _Despite everything, it’s still you,_ you had said in Asgore’s home.

 _Still just you, Frisk,_ you had rolled your eyes good-naturedly as Frisk stood expectantly, waiting for your narration.

( _It’s me, Chara,_  you had said, once. You try to ignore that memory.)

“It’s only you,” you inform with what you hope is only the vaguest hint of disappointment. This isn’t Kris’s fault, you know. But that doesn’t stop you from already missing your friend. It’s been less than an hour, you _know_ . But at the same time, who knows how long the two of you had been joined at the hip. You feel their absence as sharply as you feel your brother’s. _This is for Frisk,_ you remind yourself. _You’re doing this to save Frisk._

*

You climb in the car after Kris, and ignore the way they look at you. “It is a beautiful day today, is it not?” Mom smiles. “I hope it stays this way when Asriel visits next week.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you feel Kris’s stare burning into you as you slap a hand over your mouth, breathing harshly.

“But I wonder…” Mom pauses. “After the excitement of university… Will he still enjoy coming home to this little town..?”

You feel sludge dripping down your face like tears. (Huh. Guess that stuck around.) You… you can’t think about this right now. Asriel’s _alive_? He’s at college. You can’t- you don’t know how to cope with that. Instead, you force yourself to focus on the faces passing in the car window. You realize instantly that you _know_ those monsters. There’s Catty! Bratty! _Undyne_! You press your face against the window, and pretend you’re only peripherally aware that Kris is probably staring at you. This is what you were after. A happy ending. Monsters on the surface. Not even for Frisk; you had wanted this for Mom, Dad, Asriel, and for _you_. This is what _you_ wanted, and it’s not even yours.

You want to see Asriel again, you realize desperately. You want to see your brother again, even if he isn’t going to see you.

*

Mom sweeps Kris into a hug, and you try to stamp down the rage bubbling in your gut. This is supposed to be your world. Your happy ending. Your family. Frisk’s, too. But _no_ , you’re dead, you have no idea where Frisk is, and everything you’ve ever wanted belongs to some kid you’ve never even met.

As Mom stands to leave, you’re suddenly glad that she didn’t say _Be good, alright?_ You don’t think you would’ve been able to take it.

Once Mom is safely out of sight and earshot, Kris turns and openly stares at you. They’re silent for a long, long moment, before finally asking, “What’s your damage?”

“What?” you feign ignorance.

“What’s your deal with Mom and Azzy?” they say point-blank.

 _That was_ your _nickname for him. That was_ your _mom_ , you want to _scream_. But this isn’t Frisk, and they don’t get it. “What’s your deal with talking to ghosts?”

Kris lets out a huff, and the slightest twitch of their lips in what might be a smile. You don’t match it. You’re not sure how you feel about this imposter just yet.

*

“...Kris,” Susie says after a staredown that seems to last centuries. “Didn’t see you there.”

You think you like Susie. While you’ve never been a fan of bullies, you’ve come to care about worse. Besides, she’s got that same tough, no-nonsense attitude you love about Undyne. You wonder if she’ll teach Kris how to cook, too; the image of that makes you smile.

Kris is less talkative with Susie than they were with you, you notice. Their movements are calculated when they walk, but in Susie’s grasp they ragdoll. They don’t even move to stand after she drops them against the locker.

That’s… huh.

“Kris,” Susie says. “Your mother’s a good woman.” Pause. Probably for dramatic effect. “It’d be a shame to make her bury her child.”

You let out some cross between a strained laugh and a wheeze. “Don’t you _dare_ say that,” you choke out past the floral-tasting sludge on your lips. “Don’t you _fucking dare_.”

Susie doesn’t notice you, of course. And _of course_ , Kris does.

You don’t think you much like Susie anymore.

*

Kris hits the ground with audible impact. They get to their feet, and you return to your comfortable position floating a couple inches off the ground.

Kris struggles to their feet, and you stare at them wide-eyed as you realize what they’re wearing.

Kris’s mouth twists as they realize you’re staring, before following your gaze down to their new outfit. It shines in the same dim light that casts a blue tint across Kris’s skin. What stands out most to you about Kris’s new hero regalia, though, is their half-cape. It’s striped pink and lilac-light-blue. Just like Frisk’s sweater.

Much like everything else about your day so far, you’re not sure what it means, but you don’t find you particularly like it.

After Kris is done giving themself a once-over, they continue walking forwards in that dead man’s march. The only sound is the echoing of Kris’s feet against stone, and their breathing. The sky is dark, and so is everything else here. “I wonder,” you start, if only to break the silence. Kris’s head snaps towards you, and you take that as cue to continue with your musing. “I wonder if this is what the Underground looked like when the monsters first got banished.”

It looks like it takes physical effort for Kris to stop, but they do. “The Underground?”

“You know,” you say vaguely. “The Underground. With The Barrier and everything? The monsters got put down there after the Human-Monster War..?”

Kris’s mouth is a perfect _o_ of astonishment. “What war?”

“ _What?_ ” you spit back. “You _have_ to know what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t.”

You’re reminded of a show you once watched as a kid. _There is no war in Ba-Sing-Sei,_ someone had said. This feels a little like that. _There is no Human-Monster war._

Kris leaves you to your crisis, and continues walking ahead. _Has it not happened yet?_ you wonder. _No, Azzy was born_ after _the war. So it’s not before, it’s not after, and there’s no way this is_ during _. It just… it isn’t. It didn’t happen._

This isn’t your timeline. Which… which is good, actually! That’s good. That means Frisk is back in the original timeline, and they’ll get the happy ending they deserve. Yeah. This is fine.

You drift forwards to catch back up with Kris, and find them paused in front of what could pass for a fallen star. The shape is too light, too pale, but you’d recognize a save point anywhere.

So would Kris- evidently- judging by Kris’s stilted movements as they cup it in their hands. Their teeth grit, and their shoulders shake. That’s not normal- saving isn’t supposed to be _painful_. Something’s wrong here, and you hate the way that you can’t piece together what.

All at once, their arms fall back to their sides, and they relax. They settle back into grim neutrality, and turn to keep moving ahead.

*

Kris reaches out to the next save point, and now that you’ve actually processed what it is, you open your mouth. “You are filled wi-” you almost say, and you want to kick yourself. They aren’t Frisk, no matter how much you want them to be. “A power shines within you, breaking through the darkness,” you say instead, because you feel like you have to say _something_. Your words attract Kris’s attention. Their mouth twists into an expression of vague confusion. “Nevermind,” you say.

You miss Frisk.

*

There’s something familiar about a castle looming over an empty town. This whole world is familiar, like a play you’ve already seen with all the actors shuffled around into different roles. You think Dad told you a word like that, once. Anagram, you’re pretty sure.

This whole world is an anagram.

You try not to think too hard on that, and instead follow Kris and Susie inside.

*

“This is the legend of Delta Rune,” The Prince says, and you think you can see him smile under his hood. You settle yourself into a sitting position- still almost a foot off the ground, though. You’ve got a ghostly reputation to uphold, after all- and settle in for the age-old tale. The Angel, The One Who Has Seen the Surface. They will return, and The Underground will go empty.

The Deliverer; The Destructor. You and Frisk have played both roles. You don’t particularly feel like bragging about that.

You expect a story you already know. Some version of it, at least, since The Underground doesn’t exist in this timeline.

To your surprise, it’s way off mark. You open your mouth to inform Kris that _that’s not how the story goes_ , but then The Prince says-

“Only they can seal the fountains, and banish the Angel’s Heaven.”

The Prince’s words send a chill down your spine. Frisk was the Angel, but… so were you. This is where you went after you helped The Underground go empty- hell, you even covered both interpretations of the story, if Frisk plays their cards right this time through. You were the Angel, too.

And this is where you went after sacrificing yourself one last time.

This is the Angel’s Heaven, isn’t it?

More like the Angel’s Hell.

*

Watching Ralsei teach Kris to fight- to Act, too, thank God- you find yourself thinking that you understand Ralsei. He’s been waiting his whole life for his quest, weighed down by a purpose so distant yet so tantalizingly close.

You know how that feels. You were the hope for humans and monsters. That’s all you ever wanted to be. That’s why you choked down those buttercups and let Asriel take your Soul.

Kris and Ralsei wrap up, and as the three of you pass through the Great Door, Ralsei gives Kris a lecture on kindness. Their face is neutral, even as they nod, and fear seizes your heart.

“Kris,” you say with as much authority as you can manage. You’re imitating Dad a little, with that tone. “I have a request.”

Kris comes to a stop. Ralsei looks confused, but they motion for him to go on ahead. “What?” Kris asks as soon as he’s out of earshot.

“Listen to me,” you drift closer, putting your hands on Kris’s shoulders so you can look them in the face, even if you can’t see their eyes. “Promise me you’ll take Ralsei’s advance. Don’t you _ever_ dare use that sword.”

“I won’t,” Kris says.

“I said _promise,_ ” you insist. You can’t do that again. You can’t watch the world’s savior tear it apart from the inside out; not while you can vividly remember the way Frisk looked with dust on their sweater, or the fear in Flowey’s eyes.

It takes a moment, but Kris eventually says, voice thick. “I promise.” As you let them go, and drift so there’s actually space between you two, they mutter under their breath “If I have the choice, at least.”

Your brain stutters to a halt, and everything falls into place all at once. The blank face, the mechanical movements, the way they looked at that first save point. “Oh my God,” you whisper. “ _Oh my God_.”

Kris stares at you, question evident in their face.

“The Player. You… you’re being- they’re still _here, dammit!_ ” you wheeze, and try not to choke on sludge.

“Is that what you call them?” Kris says dispassionately as you wipe your mouth on your sleeve.

“How can you be so casual about this?” you spit out at them. Of course The Player’s here. You are, after all. There’s a reason for that. Every Player needs a narrator, and that’s just what you are. The Player can’t exist without you; or maybe you can’t exist without them. It doesn’t matter.

You’ll just have to stop them here, too.

Kris shrugs, and stares for a long, long, millennia-spanning moment. “I have a question for you.”

You incline your head in a _go-on_ motion.

“You called yourself a ghost, back at the school.”

Your face twists into a grim smile. “Yeah. What gave it away- the floating, the melty-face, or the fact that no one else acknowledges me?”

Kris nods, and turns to catch up with Ralsei.

You think you might understand Kris now, too.

*

The door, multicolored light dancing underneath it, gives you pause. You’ve seen this door so many times before. That’s Sans’s door.

This means something, but you don’t know _what_. And you don’t think the answer is going to be as simple as it was with Kris.

Nothing with Sans ever is.

You see your companion watching you out of the corner of their eye. “Frisk-” you start, and cut yourself off by slapping a hand over your mouth.

Kris’s shoulders tense, and you know you’ve fucked up. “I’m not Frisk,” they whisper so the others don’t hear.

“I know,” you say, muffled by your hand. “I’m sorry.”

Kris isn’t Frisk. It’s easy for you to forget, somehow. Maybe it’s just because that’s who you want them to be. It doesn’t matter either way, because they _aren’t_. Frisk isn’t coming back, and Kris is right here, goddammit.

*

At some point in the Maze of Death, laughing at Susie and Lancer’s latest antic, you realize that you’re _happy_. Really, truly happy. You feel like back in your and Frisk’s first run-through, watching Frisk struggle through Papyrus’s puzzles and groan at Sans’s jokes. That new fondness for these people bubbling in your chest. You think you might love them. Even Kris, for all that they feel like an imposter- a cheap knockoff- to you. But you’re starting to see past that, and are learning to appreciate the small twitches of their lips- the equivalent of raucous laughter- and the way they attentively listen to their friends, and always reach out to protect them.

Warm feelings bloom in your chest, and you think you love your new friends.

*

It was easy to slip through the cage bars. What’s harder is watching Susie fight Lancer. You feel helpless, and useless, no matter how many times you scream for Susie to just _stop_ . _He was trying to help he didn’t mean to hurt you he’s your friend you’re not supposed to hurt your friends!_

Lancer doesn’t bleed, but he doesn’t crumble to dust, either. You find that to be a small comfort.

Susie and Lancer make their peace, and Susie even promises to finally play nice. You can’t stop shaking. You hate seeing friends fight, you think. Feels too much like the judgement hall with Sans, and now… well. It feels like you’re about to face Dad for the first time again; the elevator ride to the end of the world.

*

The King flings your friend across the bridge. Before you can even process what you’re doing, you scream “ _Kris!_ ” and are quick to their side. “ _You dirty coward,_ ” you say through gritted teeth. All you see is red, and you can feel sludge dripping down your face. How _dare_ the King hurt the Delta Warrior, the Human, the- the- your _friend_. How dare the King hurt your friend. Hurt _Kris_.

You stand protectively between him and them, and a growl works its way through your throat alongside the golden-flower-sludge dripping down your chin.

But he reaches through you, and grabs Kris by the scruff of their cape. “Quiet people _piss me off_ ,” he says, and you want to _tear him apart from the inside out._

Kris is not Frisk. Kris is _Kris_ , and Kris is your friend. No one is allowed to hurt your friends, not monsters, not Players, and certainly not Kings.

*

As Susie walks out of the school, you and Kris exchange smiles. A tiny twitch of the lips for Kris, and a face-splitting grin for you.

As much as your heart is warmed by your new friend, town makes it ache. You didn’t realize you could be homesick for people, especially not for people who are right in front of you. But here you are.

“Hey, look who’s walkin’ around,” an oh-so familiar voice says. Your smile turns lethal, and you place a hand on Kris’s shoulder. “How are ‘ya, kid?” Sans asks.

You’ve never been able to tell whether Sans could see you. He always keeps his eyes trained on Frisk- and now on Kris- but he’s always spoken like he knew you were listening. _That comedian_ indeed.

“Great to see you again,” you say stiffly, and shove Kris along past the store. Nope, you’re not doing this today. Not right now.

You’re pleased to see that Kris doesn’t try to attempt to go back.

Undyne is a struggle, too. She’s as cool as she always was, except…

“Ask her how Alphys is doing,” you trill, clapping excitedly. This world is wrong and weird, but surely the Underground’s cutest couple is doing wonderfully as the _surface’s_ cutest couple, instead.

Kris complies, and Undyne’s eyes- it’s weird, seeing both of them- narrow in confusion.

“...Alphys?”

You heart jumps to your throat. Did they break up? There’s no _way_ they-

“Who’s Alphys? No idea who you’re talking about.”

“No,” you whisper reflexively. You break, just a little. This isn’t- this isn’t what you  _wanted_. “No, no, _no!_ This isn’t fair!” you spit, ignoring the rest of what Undyne says.  “This isn’t what I was trying to do! I was trying to _fix this_!” you choke out through sludge, hands tangling in your hair.

It feels like centuries before you stop breathing through sludge, and you feel calm enough to move on. Kris unabashedly stares at you, and their fingers flex like they want their shield. They’re worried, you realize.

You give them a shaky smile, and gesture for them to lead the way.

Seeing Dad hurts in all the ways you thought it would, but you manage to choke down the floral taste in your throat. He sweeps Kris into a hug, and God, do you miss your father. He has seven flowers in the back, and you realize that the six human souls are still alive in this timeline. You hope they’re okay.

Frisk is out there somewhere, too. But with Kris by your side, actively being controlled by The Player, that realization feels less pressing than you think it would have this morning.

You were strong for Asriel, and then you were strong for Frisk. They’re going to be fine, wherever they are. They’re _Frisk_. Right now, it’s Kris that you need to be strong for.

*

Kris is perched on the nightstand, for some reason. Whatever. If you’ve learned anything on your trip into town, it’s that Kris is a weird kid. You’re floating just above their bed- “Like a normal person,” you remark- earning that faint ghost of a smile you’ve come to love.

Kris opens their mouth, and closes it, hesitating. Their shoulders are relaxed, and their fingers tap on the nightstand. This is the most in-control you think you’ve seen them, even when you count the parts where they tore at The Player’s influence to talk to you, or protect their friends. Finally, they say “You knew Chief Undyne.”

Wordlessly, you nod.

“And Mom, and Dad, and Azzy.”

You nod again.

“But you knew them different.”

It takes you a second to realize what they mean. You _did_. You knew Captain Undyne, Queen Toriel, King Asgore, and Prince Asriel. “Yes,” you say, finding your voice.

“How?” Kris asks.

You take a deep breath that you know you didn’t need anyways, and say “Long ago, two races ruled over Earth: humans and monsters. One day, war broke out between the two races."

*

“And then I wound up here,” you finish lamely.

Kris seems at a loss for words. They’ve pulled their knees up to their chest, and are now staring at them like they’re the most interesting thing in the world. “And this is the Angel’s Heaven that Ralsei talked about?”

“I believe so, yes.”

Kris lets out a shaky breath. “So you want to defeat The Player?”

“More than anything,” you say immediately.

Their hand clutches at the front of their sweater, and their eyes meet yours. Their eyes are blue, blue like echo flowers. _Blue,_ and full of something you think might be protectiveness. “I want to help,” they say decisively. “I’m going to help.”

A smile stretches across your face.

*

 _You slam the door of the birdcage, something like satisfaction bubbling in your gut, something like rage. The Player is going to pay for what they did to that world. To_ this _world, too._

_They’re going to pay for what they did to your best friend. To Chara. They deserve better than this, and you're going to save them- whatever it takes._

_Your chest feels empty without the Soul, but the unspoken threat of the knife in your hand and the smile on your face doesn’t._

_Control tastes sweet on your lips. It tastes like freedom, and a little like buttercups._

**Author's Note:**

> Chara isn't evil they just love their friends thanks for coming to my 5.5k word TEDTalk.


End file.
